


thaws to spring

by liionne



Series: A season for all things [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Pre-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 10:18:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15661233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liionne/pseuds/liionne
Summary: The ride is deathly silent; the familiar redhead drives, with the archer in the front of the car. The metal man is gone, but there's another sitting beside Steve, his head bowed, a set of metal wings at his feet. The Soldier doesn't trust a single one of them.*****A sequel toour winter.





	thaws to spring

**Author's Note:**

> So I would definitely suggest reading Our Winter before you read this, because otherwise, it's not going to make much sense. 
> 
> This was requested by tt40-angst-queen on tumblr, and honestly I had forgotten how much I loved this au and the artwork that inspired it! 
> 
> Very hastily spell checked, so apologies for that!

The Soldier sits in the back of the van as it trundles through the city, his Handler by his side. Opposite them sits the man who wears his Handler's face, called _Cap_ by the others, introduced by himself as _Steve_. The Soldier watches Steve watching them, and then he moves to kiss the top of his Handler's head, nose skimming over his hair.

When his eyes flick back to Steve, he notes the pain etched into his features.

The ride is deathly silent; the familiar redhead drives, with the archer in the front of the car. The metal man is gone, but there's another sitting beside Steve, his head bowed, a set of metal wings at his feet. The Soldier doesn't trust a single one of them.

They arriving at a compound that the Soldier has never seen before - he had half expected them to take him back to a HYDRA facility, so this is a definite improvement.

Though, it could be a HYDRA facility in disguise.

The Soldier squeezes his Handler closer to him, and feels a little better when his Handler tucks into his side.

They're taken through wide, well-lit corridors, a stark contrast to the fluorescent-lit-but-somehow-still-dark, narrow corridors of the usual facility. The Soldier cataloues everything as they go, and though he doesn't turn his head to look, he knows that his Handler does the same.

They go past an area that looks like barracks, and another that looks like a training facility, eventually taken to what seems to be an infirmary. There are already two men and a woman inside, flitting around, looking at computers. Steve makes a beeline for them, and the redhead directs the Soldier and his Handler to two beds. They take one, but she doesn't question it.

"Soldier," The redhead says in Russian, and he stiffens, eyes hardening. She smiles, but it doesn't set him at ease in the slightest. "I'm Natalia. Do you remember me?"

He shakes his head sharply. She nods, and moves away.

So there's Steve, and the man with the metal wings, who seems to be called Sam. Banner is the man in the labcoat, standing at the computer and shaking his head, and Stark is the name of the other man, the man who sounds like the one from the metal suit. The name makes him feel oddly queasy, but he doesn't question it.

The woman approaches them, and says with a soft smile, "My name is Helen Cho; I'm a doctor. I'm going to look the two of you over, but first, can you tell me your names?"

The Soldier looks immediately to his Handler, who looks back at the Soldier, and after a moment, gives a nod. They may not be subject to HYDRA's rules anymore, and he may have proved himself more than capable of making his own decisions, but in a situation like this, he thinks he likes the guidance.

"I'm the Soldier." He says. Cho's brow furrows. "He's my Handler."

She looks to Steve, and he opens his mouth, lips parting to speak before he shuts it with a soft click of his teeth. He brings his hands up instead, signing the words: _We don't have any other name._

Cho must not know sign language, though, because that seems to puzzle her even more. "Agent Romanov, can we get Agent Barton in here, please? I need him to translate." Natalia looks between the Soldier and his Handler, nods, and then leaves the room.

The Soldier curls around his Handler a little more.

"I need to treat you and your... Handler for your injuries." Cho says softly, looking at the Soldier. "And I need to make sure you aren't badly hurt. Is that alright?"

Again, a glance at his Handler. He sighs, but otherwise nods, and so the Soldier inches away, giving Cho room to work on each of them. This is nothing new to them - they were always patched up after missions, though never this gently. The Soldier is mostly free of wounds, save for the bullet they pull out for him, but it's mostly healed when she reaches it. His spine still aches, but he's already pushed it to the back of his mind, focusing on other things.

Cho concludes her assessment of his Handler, and the Soldier scoots back over to him, taking his hand. He's got some cream for the bruises, some butterfly stitches for the cuts, but she doesn't think he's too badly hurt.

The Soldier decides to trust her, just this once.

The door opens, and Natalia returns with the archer, apparently Barton, who looks a little sheepish. "Okay, so, we know you're not deaf, so the talking thing is-- we'll keep doing that." Barton says, looking directly at his Handler, who gives a little nod. "And honestly, for a guy who's like, 80% deaf, my sign language is shitty but-- I'll do my best. What did you say to Cho just now?"

His Handler repeats himself, signing slowly; it brings an amused smile to the Soldier's lips, even if it's just an ever so slight curl.

"Uh -- he says that they don't have names." Barton says, looking now at Banner, who's come over to observe, apparently.

"Do you know what you are?" Natalia asks. His Handler shakes his head. "Do you know who he is?" She continues.

His Handler pauses, but then he nods.

"Then tell us."

 _He's the Winter Soldier._ His Handler signs, Barton relating it back as best he can. _He's HYDRA's most important weapon._

Natalia nods slowly, and opens her mouth to speak, but she's interrupted--

"Do you know who he was before?"

The crowd before them parts to reveal Steve, looking distressed, confused, but resolute. He isn't taking his eyes off his Handler, and it unsettles the Soldier, for some reason he can't put his finger on. He decides that it's his voice; eerily familiar. His Handler looks at Steve for a long, long time, and then nods.

That unsettles the Soldier even more.

The silence in the room is heavy after that, thick and cloying, and the Soldier hates it. He decides that he likes Natalia when she breaks it by saying, "We just took down the entirety of HYDRA, and released their files for the world. We have yours. Would you like to read them?"

The Soldier looks at his Handler. His Handler makes a sign the Soldier knows well.

"He says please." The Soldier says, and Barton's jaw drops as Natalia turns away.

"You know what he's saying?" Barton asks.

"How else would we communicate?" The Soldier asks, frowning as if he's confused by the notion. His Handler snickers silently. "No one asked me to translate."

"Got me over here making a fool out of myself," Barton grumbles as Natalia returns, holding out a tablet for his Handler to take. "Could've been translating the whole damn time." Barton continues, though that's when the Soldier chooses to ignore him, instead looking at the file.

 

CODENAME: THE ASSET  
NAME: JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES  
BORN: MARCH 10 1917, BROOKLYN, NY, USA

 

The Soldier stops reading about there. He wants to know, he does, but for some reason it hurts. He files bile rising in his throat at the photo included, a man with his face, a man in a uniform, a man with-- a man--

His Handler's hand settles on his thigh, and the Soldier takes a deep, stuttering breath.

His Handler reads for quite some time, scrolling down and down and down, but the Solier doesn't know why; he admitted to knowing all of this only moments ago. Eventually he begins to read too, but he feels detached from it. He doesn't remember whatever is in those files, he doesn't remember any of it--

He remembers his Handler, and HDYRA, and nothing else.

"Does this make sense to you, Soldier?" Natalia asks, again in Russian. He shakes his head, surprised to find hot, angry tears spilling over his cheeks when he does.

His Handler wipes them away, hand lingering against his cheek, and then he looks to Natalia. He won't remember, he signs, Barton relating what he says despite his prior grumbling. _He was wiped regularly. Kept in line._

"Wiped?" Steve asks. His Handler gives a solemn nod.

Sam clears his throat. "Show them his file." He says.

Natalia takes the tablet back, does a little tapping, and then hands it back to them. This time the file is different, a photo of his Handler in the top right corner. It's a lot shorter than his own, but he reads it all.

 

CODENAME: ASSET HANDLER  
NAME: N/A  
BORN: NOVEMBER 5 1983  
YEARS ACTIVE: 1999 - PRESENT

SIXTEENTH ATTEMPT AT CLONE SUCCESSFUL. CLONE BORN TO MOTHER AT 3:07AM NOVERMBER 5 1983, SUBSEQUENTLY TERMINATED. CLONE SURVIVED INFANCY, TRAINED AMONGST OTHER HANDLER CANDIDATES. FIRST INTERACTION WITH ASSET OCTOBER 1999. MISSION SUCCESSFUL. ALL OTHER HANDLER CANDIDATES TERMINATED.

 

There was more about their mission success, about their interactions - ASSET SEEMS CALMER WITH HANDLER. HANDLER TO ASSIST IN DEBRIEF - and how they worked together. It frightens Bucky, his beathing heavy. He knows it's 2014, knows from the motel they stayed in, but he can only remember some of it. Fifteen years, and he only remembers patches here and there.

MISSION #450XDE43T - ASSET OUT OF CONTROL. WIPED BUT REMAINED OUT OF CRYO. HANDLER'S LARYNX AND VOCAL CHORDS REMOVED TO AVOID FURTHER TRIGGERS.

The Soldier's flesh hand trembles as it reaches out, running over his Handler's throat, smoother now than it once was. He remembers that. He knew, he knew that he could talk one time. He knew that he had heard his Handler's voice before.

"I'm sorry." He whispers, but his Handler looks at him fiercely, tears in his eyes, and shakes his head.

His Handler hands back the tablet, and signs only one word: _rest_.

"We have a room cleared for you both." Natalia nods, looking to Steve, who shuffles from one foot to another. "We assumed you would only want the one."

Both the Soldier and his Handler nod. He doesn't want to be away from him right now.

"We've left fresh clothes, and you can shower if you like." Natalia continues. "If you need any of us, there's a telephone in your room with a list of numbers. Understood?"

"Yes." The Soldier says, voice barely above a whisper. "Take us there."

~*~

Their room is fairly basic. A large bed with soft white covers, two piles of clothes at the foot of it. A bathroom, with a shower and a toilet and a tiled floor, and a large window, though thre doesnt seem to be a way to open it.

The Soldier should have known that escape would not be so easy.

The door has only just closed when his Handler whirls on him, hands flying as quickly as they're able.

_I'm sorry I didn't tell you, I'm sorry I let them do those things, I'm sorry I let them hurt you, I'm sorry, I'm sorry_

The Soldier grabs his hands, and holds them still. Kisses each the fingertips of each one, and then meets his gaze. "I don't blame you." He says softly. "We were both prisoners. You don't need to apologise."

His Handler tips forward, forehead resting against his chest, and the Soldier simply holds him for a moment, looking around their room. It's a lot nicer than his holding cell, yes, but it still seems to be a cell - he's sure that if he tried the door, it would be locked.

"Shall we shower?" The Soldier asks, and his Handler gives a small smile before he nods.

There are a thousand things that the Soldier wants to do to his Handler, a hundred or so of which take place in the bathroom, but he doesn't act upon any urge (he's good at that, as it happens). They stand under the spay together, facing one another. The Soldier shampoos his Handler's hair, and his Handler washes his skin, rubbing his hands over his chest and his stomach, lingering at his neck to pull him closer, into a gentle kiss.

The intimacy, the contact; it's everything the Soldier has ever wanted. It's so much, and so soon, but he _craves_ it. He lives for each tiny touch, needs it, now, like a lifeline, like an addict. He needs his Handler.

The sleep in the same bed, and they don't sleep in shifts; they sleep together, looking at each other until it's impossible to keep their eyes open any longer. The Soldier feels at peace, knowing that his Handler is there. That they might be safe, after all, or at least for a time.

~*~

The Soldier wakes to the sound of his Handler's voice.

It had come to him in a dream, thouh he wasn't exactly dreaming - it was just darkness, and his Handler's voice, saying his name. "Bucky," It said, a name that was and wasn't his, all at once. "Til the end of the line, Bucky."

It echoes in his ears as he blinks his eyes open, but it's chased awa by a knock at the door.

The Soldier is instantly up, dressed in the too-soft clothes left behind for him and suspicious of who might be asking _permission_ to enter. His Handler, also in his too-soft clothes, nods at him.

"Come in," The Soldier calls, and Banner smiles meekly as he enters the room.

"We're having breakfast over in the kitchen, if you want to come." He says. "We have a few things we want to talk about. If you'd rather eat here, though--"

The Soldier looks to his Handler. _What do you want to do?_  His Handler signs. It's a funny question, so he gives him a blank state. His Handler smiles gently, and signs _Let's go_.

"We'll come." He nods to Banner, who gives a nod of his own.

"Great." He says. "Do you need to get ready, or--"

The looks at his Handler, who arches his eyebrows. He shakes his head. His Handler confirms with a shake of his own.

"We can go." The Soldier says, waiting for his Handler before he follows Banner from the room.

The kitchen is not a canteen, but it seems to be just as big, with a large table and endless counterspace. The Soldier and his Handler sit, leaving distance between them and the rest of them. It's Natalia who hands them each a plate of food, a smile on her lips.

"Don't get used to this." she say. "It's not very often I make breakfast free of charge."

The Soldier doesn't smile, but his Handler does, and the Soldier has to wonder why. He looks to his Handler, waiting for his nod before he eats, demolishing the entire plate of food in about two minutes, the time it takes his Handler to eat a slice of bacon, chewing slowly. His Handler looks at him, offers him his own plate, but the Soldier scowls until he recinds the offer.

"Steve--" Banner begins, and then flinches, at the exact same time that his Handler flinches as well. "Sorry. Actually, that's something we wanted to talk about. There's, uh, no name on your file. Is there something we should call you?"

His Handler shakes his head.

"But--"

"Handler is his name." The Soldier says. "What else would he be called?"

"He could choose any name he likes." Natalia says cooly, sitting down beside Banner with a cup of coffee. Her eyes flit to his Handler's, holding his gaze. "He has that choice now."

His Handler moves his hands to reply, and the Soldier translates, "He'll think about it."

"Good." Banners nods. "The other thing we wanted to talk about was your throat. We want to take a scan, see if--"

His Handler shakes his head so violently that the Soldier worries it might fall off. "No scans." He says. "No. Not his throat."

"Easy," Natalia says, holding her hands up, placating. "It isn't going to hurt. It isn't even going to take very long. It'll give us an image of your throat so we can see if we can repair it."

 _It can't be repaired_ , his Handler says and dysmally, the Soldier translates.

"Well, we would at least like to have a look." Banner says. "And, uh, Tony probably won't leave you alone until you say yes..."

The Soldier doesn't know who Tony is, but he knows that he doesn't want to be badgered any more than he has to be. In fact, he'd like to get out of this compound and run away with his Handler, he thinks, but for now he knows he has to stay. HYDRA had been dismantled, according to these people, but the Soldier knew better. They would still be looking for him. For his Handler.

His Handler nods, and so the Soldier does the same.

Banner leads them through the infirmary to s plain white room that holds only an MRI machine; the Soldier doesn’t know how he knows that, and he thinks, perhaps, that he doesn’t want to, but regardless. He knows it isn’t going to hurt his Handler, and so he gives him a look that is hopefully reassuring.

Stark is already in the room, and he looks up when they enter, throwing a gown st his Handler. He catches it instantly, snatching it from the air, and the Soldier feels somewhat proud.

“Little Cap!” Stark crows. “Banner talk you round?”

His Handler nods, but the Soldier scowls. “That isn’t his name.”

“No.” Stark agrees, looking at his Handler. “But we talked about that, right?”

Another nod. The Soldier keeps on scowling. Stark continues, “Alright, well. You’ll have some time to think about it whilst you’re in there, should take about… twenty minutes. Bruce won’t let me tinker with it, or I could definitely have that down to about ten.”

“Twenty is fine.” The Soldier says, moving to stand by the machine.

“Actually, Comrade, I’m gonna need you to step outside.” Stark says, which only intensifies the Soldier’s glare. His hand curls around his Handler’s arm protectively, and he shakes his head, hair falling into his eyes.

“You won’t separate us.” He growls, eyes fixed on Stark even as Banner steps closer.

“We’re not trying to separate you, Sergeant. It’s your arm - the machine is basically a giant magnet. Your arm could be ripped out of the socket if you’re too close, and you’d at least be stuck to it if you were in the room.”

“Plus, Cap wants to talk to you. The big Cap. The OG.” Stark adds.

Getting stuck to the machine is starting to sound good to the Soldier, yet he still looks to his Handler.

 _It’ll be alright._ He signs, a small smile on his lips. _And you know where to find me if it’s not._

The Soldier takes a breath - leaving his Handler alone makes him feel uneasy. But his Handler had made the decision, and if theSoldier was good st anything, it was obeying orders.

He kisses his Handler’s forehead once, and then he leaves, stalking out of the room. Waiting outside is Natalia; she pops her bubblegum and smiles at him, oddly catlike. “Steve is waiting for you in the kitchen. You up for that?”

No, he thinks. I want to wait for my Handler. But instead he nods; he might as well figure out this oh so familiar Captain whilst he waits.

Steve is sat at the breakfast table, a plate in front of him, though he doesn’t eat. There’s another one; one for the Soldier, maybe. He isn’t sure, so he just lingers by the table, feeling ill at ease.

“Bucky,” Steve smiles. The name makes him cringe. He remembers it, vaguely, but certainly not enough. “Sit down. Have you eaten?”

The Soldier is silent as he sits, looking down s the plate. So, it is for him. Steve is too soft.

“I just wanted to talk to you. Just you.” Steve says slowly, as of talking to a child. “I just wanted to know if you remember anything. Remember me.”

The Soldier does remember his face, but all the memories he has he associates with his Handler, that lithe body and lean face, so fragile and yet so tough. A man fighting in a back alley, the same man coughing in a wire framed bed. They seem to be from a different time, one so separate from HYDRA, but they are nothing to do with this _Steve_.

Are they?

The Soldier looks at him blankly, opens his mouth to speak, and then stops. Maybe he does remember… something. Pain, pain and confusion and a face, this Steve, looking down st him. Looking taller than usual, looking over him,

_“What happened to you?”_

_“I joined the army.”_

“I don’t - I don’t remember a lot.” The Soldier whispers. Steve nods; that seems to make sense to him.

“They think it’ll come back to you.” He says. “Just that it’ll take a while.”

“I usually start to remember.” The Soldier blurts out. “When they haven’t wiped me in a while.”

Why did he say that? It’s just easy to talk to Steve, he supposes, because he looks so familiar. And his voice - it’s definitely his Handler’s voice, they share that too, warm and deep and rich, and he’s missed it. He doesn’t know when he last heard it, but oh, he’s missed it so much.

He wants to hear more.

"Why do they wipe you?" Steve asks, shaking his head. "Sorry - why _did_ they wipe you?"

The Soldier blinks, searching his internal database for an answer. "I act... erratically."

His Handler would be able to explain it better, because he was on the outside of it. The Soldier only knew that, when he hadn't been wiped in a while, he tended to do things he knew were wrong, things he knew were bad. He remembered things, ghosts and shadows and he acted upon them, but it was as if it were separate of him. He knew he did those things he just... He doesn't know how to put it into words.

So, when Steve asks, "How?", the Soldier can only shake his head.

Steve nods, but his face falls as if the answer disappoints him. The Soldier feels an odd kind of twinge, and he panics, suddenly. Is something wrong? Have they done something to him? His Handler-- Steve--

No. It's just... guilt.

Ah.

"I have something for you." Steve says. "A few things, actually."

From somewhere by his feet, Steve produces a stack of photographs. "I had to ask for these back from the Smithsonian," He says, a smile curling his lips. "Obviously, they thought I wouldn't be needing them--"

Obviously? The Soldier doesn't know why that's obvious. He knows that the Smithsonian is a museum, but he doesn't know why they would have Steve's photographs.

"But now I do. Well. I wanted them. Now I can put them to some good use." Steve finishes, sliding the photographs across the table at the Soldier. "I thought maybe... maybe they'd jog your memory."

The Soldier looks at the photos, gaze lingering over each of them. In the first few is a man who wears his face, but he seems... leaner. His hair is short, probably stylish for the time, and most importantly, he has two arms, made entirely of flesh. He stands by Steve, the _Captain_ , tall and broad shouldered and in a ridiculous looking uniform. They're always smiling, or laughing. In one, though, they look serious; they're stood with a group of men, each one holding a gun and looking very gravely at the camera.

"Do you remember them?"

Men singing in a bar, clinking glasses, around a table. It was dark and smokey and he was tired, so tired, and yet...

"No."

It's only half of a lie.

"They were our men." Steve says. "The Howling Commandos. You were our sniper."

"Makes sense." The Soldier murmurs. He's good as a sniper. He always has been.

He sets the photo aside, and his heart stops. The man in this photo, this Bucky, seems a lot happier in this photo. His face a little fuller, eyes brighter, and he wears plain-clothes, though they're old fashioned.

But that's not what holds the Soldier's attention.

It's the man stood by his side. The photo is in sepia but he knows the shade of gold; he knows the angular cut of his cheekbones, and the slight curve of his spine, visible in just his posture as he stands by Bucky's side, smiling at the camera.

"My Handler." The Soldier murmurs, running his fingertips over the photograph.

When he looks up, Steve looks as though his entire world has crashed down around him.

"No, Buck, that's - that's me." He says. His voice is thick, tearful. The Soldier hates it, but he doesn't understand. He shakes his head, and looks at his photograph again.

"But he's... you're..."

_I thought you were smaller._

"I'd like to see my Handler now, please."

Steve takes a breath, and looks at the photos. "Alright, Buck."

They walk in silence back to the Infirmary. They have to wait outside, but when Stark sees Steve he scurries out of the adjoining room, and tugs him aside.

The Soldier knows he has to listen in. What if they're talking about his Handler?

"We ran a DNA test, whilst he was in there." Stark whispers, and Steve looks at the door, arms folding over his chest. "It's not complete yet, but it's an exact match so far."

"What about the serum?" Steve murmurs.

Stark pulls a face that the Soldier can't see, and says, "What do you think?"

The Soldier scowls. Stark says thatl ike it's a bad thing, like there's something wrong with his Handler. There's nothing wrong with him, as far as the Soldier is concerned.

Banner appears in the doorway, and looks to the Soldier. "You can go in now."

The Soldier doesn't need to be told twice.

His Handler is just tugging on the jacket he had been wearing, back in his own clothes, and when he sees the Soldier he gaves a small smile. It's enough to make the Soldier feel warm right down to his toes.

 _I missed you_ He signs, aware of the people stood around them.

 _It was twenty minutes._ His Handler answers, eyebrows arching.

The Soldier's lips twitch in what is close to a smile. He shrugs.

 _I missed you too_ His Handler signs, before gesturing for them to leave the room.

The Soldier wants to go back to their own room, but apparently that isn't allowed. They're taken to a common room where a few other people are, and they're invited to sit down on a sofa that is too squishy, too soft. The Soldier supposes he'll have to get used to things like that from now on.

"We wanted to let the two of you know what the situation is." Steve says. The Soldier has noted that he seems to be their natural leader; apparenty there's something about that face. "HYDRA have been exposed to the public, but we doubt we've taken them down entirely. In the next few weeks we're going to take out some of their larger cells, and then we'll consider the smaller ones."

"Are we being assigned to these missions?" The Soldier asks.

Steve smiles gently. "No. You don't have to go on missions anymore, Buck."

There's a pause in which Steve's gaze lingers on him, and the Solder feels his Handler shift beside him.

"We'll move out next week, once the media attention has died down, and--"

His Handler begins to sign, his brow furrowed and a frown etched deep into his features. The Soldier translates, speaking as his Handler's hands fly.

"You have to be faster," He says. "Leave weeks and they'll all be gone."

Steve huffs a sigh, arms folding over his broad chest. "We can't go any faster." He says, as if explaining to a child. "The media attention needs to die down before we can send the Avengers in--"

"So why bother?" The Soldier translates, eyes on his Handler. "In a few weeks they will have scrambled, and taken everything with them."

Steve steps forward, gesticulating as he speaks. "You can't know that. HYDRA are trying to lay low right now, they don't want the attention anymore than we do. They--"

His Handler stands, but he has to look up to be able to scowl directly at Steve, no doubt close to rolling up on the balls of his feet to close the distance a little.

"HYDRA won't wait," Bucky says. "They have places they can go, and protocols in place for these types of situations. If you wait--"

"It doesn't matter what you think!" Steve retorts, his voice louder now, close to shouting. "I said we're waiting, so we're waiting, and that's--"

His Handler opens his mouth as if to yell back, but when he does, only a quiet rasp comes out. He looks at Steve, bird-like chest heaving, and then he turns and storms off, back in the direction of their room.

The Soldier doesn't hesitate. He stands, pushing past Steve with his shoulder, not bothering to turn around and see the hurt on his face.

~*~

His Handler sits on their bed, staring at his shoes. The Soldier wants to comfort him, but he isn't quite sure how. When he hears the door open he looks up, and gives his Handler gives a wan smile, looking down this time at his hands.

The Soldier moves to sit next to him, feeling the bed dip beneath his weight. He looks at his Handler for a long time, until he looks up, and catches the Soldier's gaze.

 _You should stick with him._ He signs, smiling gently. _He's better than I am._

The Soldier frowns. "How?"

His Handler winces, looking away for a moment. _He's bigger. Stronger. He's_

His Handler pauses, and his lip quivers. _He was your friend before. He's the real person. I'm just a copy._ Another pause and then he adds, _And he can speak. He's better than me._

The Soldier grabs his hands, stops them before they can say any more bad things about himself. His Handler... his Handler is perfect. The Soldier doesn't know how to make him see that. He may be small, but that makes him better for espionage. He's a good leader, and a good tactician. And he was kind, when none of the others were - he looks after the Soldier, he comforts him.

"He isn't better than you. He _isn't_ you. You're... I need you." The Soldier says. "I always have. I don't want to stick with him. He can't replace you."

His Handler looks at him for a long moment, and then he crumples, falling against the Soldier's side. He's never seen such an admission of defeat before; it terrifies him, but he feels... almost comforted. His Handler trusts him, still, to see him like this.

The Soldier moves them so that they're lying down, his Handler curled against his chest. He holds him there, clinging to him just as hard as his Handler clings to him. Neither of them sleep, or speak, or even move. They both just need the comfort, the Soldier thinks. They just need this moment, in the middle of it all.

Then his stomach growls. The Soldier forgets, sometimes, that eating is a necessity. One that he has to tend to far more often than his Handler.

 _Go eat_  His Handler signs.  _I'll stay here_

"You won't come with me?" The Soldier asks, frowning softly.

His Handler, however, smiles, _I don't need to_

The Soldier nods; he doesn't quite understand, and he's not sure he really wants to go without his Handler, but the small kiss to the corner of his mouth does make him feel somewhat better. He leaves not long after, looking at his Handler from the doorway for a long moment before he goes.

~*~

Steve is in the kitchen when he gets there. The Soldier wishes that he wasn't.

They both potter around in silence; the Soldier still doesn't really know how to feed himself, and he doesn't know where anything is. After he's opened about five of the extensive kitchen cupboards, Steve slides a plate over to him.

"Have that," He offers. "I can make another."

The Soldier nods, takes the sandwich, and sits down. He eats it in about three bites; he hadn't realised how hungry he was.

"Is your... friend alright?" Steve asks, his back to the Soldier.

The Soldier swallows his mouthful of bread. "My Handler is... fine."

Steve's shoulders hunch, bunching around his ears. The Soldier doesn't know what he said to make him uncomfortable, but he's glad that he is, even if it's just for now.

"He thinks you're better than him."

Steve's shoulders bunch up a little higher. "We're two different people. He shouldn't compare us."

The Soldier looks at his empty plate, and stands up. "I can't speak for him."

He couldn't speak for himself, either, but the Soldier doesn't say as much. He stands in the doorway, hesitating for a moment.

"If you were that small once, like you say, you would understand."

He waits for Steve to turn around, but he doesn't. The Soldier leaves; he had been sent out to eat, and nothing else. He didn't want to stay away from his Handler for too long.

~*~

They're invited down for dinner; when they get there, both their stomachs protesting, this time, Steve isn't there.

His Handler's shoulders visibly relax.

Banner catches him by the elbow, though, and he flinches. He holds his hands up apologetically, and then says, "Sorry. I just thought you should know, Cho and a few other guys, some specialists, they looked at your scans."

Against, his Handler flinches. Banner must notice, though, because he says, "Don't worry! We trust them. But... well, you were right. They can't do anything for it."

 _It's fine._  His Handler signs. The Soldier sighs softly.

He had been hoping... maybe. Maybe they could do something. Because the one thing Steve has that his Handler doesn't, the _only_ thing, is that voice. The Soldier wishes he could go back in time, undo whatever mistake he had made that had taken away that sound, one he could barely remember, but so dearly missed.

"Have you two thought any about names?" Natalia asks, setting plates out around the table.

"I know you think your names are just fine, but they _are_ the names that HYDRA gave you." Sam points out, setting a ug of water down.

The Soldier hadn't thought about that - he's only ever known this. He's only ever known the Soldier, the Asset. He's never thought about another name. He's never thought that... that he was someone before. He's remembered, a few times, things from before, but it's foggy. He was a person, once. A person with a name.

He'd like to be a person again.

The Soldier looks to his Handler. _I don't want to be HYDRA anymore_ , he signs.

His Handler gives a warm smile.  _Me neither._

"Would you like it if we called you Bucky?" Natalia asked.

The idea settles uneasily with him. He isn't Bucky. He isn't that man, in those photos, with two working arms and a bright smile. But.. he _is_  him.

It's going to take him a while to figure this out.

"I think... James. For now." He says softly. He looks to his Handler, who nods enthusiastically.

"And you?" Natalia asks, looking to him.

His Handler's smile immediately drops, and the frown grows. It isn't as easy for him, the Soldier-- James supposes. There isn't anything for him to fall back on, no one for him to grow from.

"What about Grant?"

The entire room turns to look at the doorway; Steve is leaning against it, arms crossed over his chest, but he lets them fall when everyone looks to him.

"My mom liked the name Grant, but my father liked Steve more. I think she'd be happy, knowing that there was... a version of me. Out there with that name."

James scowls. He wants to point out that his Handler isn't a version of him, that he's his own person, that the world doesn't revolve around Steve--

But his Handler smiles, and nods, spelling the name out slowly. He looks to James, who smiles back at him. "Grant," He agrees. Grant looks to Steve, and signs, mouthing with it, _Thank you_.

Steve gives a little nod, moving further into the room.

"And for the record," Steve says, moving to grab some glasses to set out on the table. "We're moving on HYDRA tomorrow. I was thinking about what you said, and... the sooner the better."

Grant gives a small smile at that, looking oddly smug. James knocks their knees together when they sit down at the table, earning yet another little smile.

They don't go with them the next day, when they go to take down the nearest, biggest base. James feels like he should, but instead, he sits with Grant, pouring over old journals and textbooks about... well. Him. About who he was, before he fell from a train in the Alps.

( _Cold, red on white, pain - fuzzy but still there, somewhere...._ )

Grant needs to decide who he is, and James supposes he does, too, but it's a start. It's all he could have asked for. And at least he doesn't have to do it alone.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd really like to apologise for any continuity errors - I wrote the original work almost 4 years ago, and I tried to make it slot into the last one but I often get carried away, and my ideas fall all over the place. Let me know if there's anything that doesn't make sense, or that you think needs to be changed!
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!


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